


Hello, is it tea you’re looking for?

by doctorbuffypotterlock79



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Lesbian AU, coffee shop AU, mild implied anxiety, really bad puns and jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbuffypotterlock79/pseuds/doctorbuffypotterlock79
Summary: Brooke is stressed out over school in the coffee shop where Vanessa works, and Vanessa cheers her up (with extremely awful puns)
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	Hello, is it tea you’re looking for?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writworm42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writworm42/gifts).

> This basically just pure fluff I wanted to write for Writ. They're the absolute best and I just love them, and they deserve this soft fluff. Please leave some feedback if you'd like!

Brooke’s bluebird mug is empty, the berry tea sweet with honey still sticky on her lips, the heading on her word document waiting expectantly for her to fill the page. The blank white screen mocks her, telling her that she’ll fail if she can’t get her paper done by tomorrow, and the normally soothing tea churns around in her stomach while the cafe’s blend of soft pop music hammers nails into her skull.

The cafe is normally one of Brooke’s favorite places. The inside is cozy and comfortable and she often trades smiles with the workers, who know her name and usual order. But even the calming pale blue walls decorated with a rainbow of teacups and the largest collection of 90’s rom-com posters Brooke has ever seen outside a movie theatre weren’t enough to calm the raging tide of finals week. 

Whose idea was it to make a final exam and papers due for five different classes, in the _same week--_

The rattle of a tiny plate snaps her head up. One of the workers--the new one, short with a smile that takes up her whole face and a booming laugh that rings through the cafe--stands next to Brooke’s chair. Brooke’s only talked to her a few times, each time losing her grip of the English language and resorting to communicating with nods and _‘yeahs’_ while turning a flaming shade of crimson. The worker slides a giant chocolate chip muffin across the table, the chunks of chocolate soft and melty around the edges, the rich smell reminding Brooke of Saturday morning breakfasts when she was a kid. 

“Oh, um, I didn’t order--”

“I know,” the girl--Vanessa, according to the sloppy scrawl on her name tag--replies. “It’s on the house. You look like you could use a muffin.”

Brooke’s face rushes with warmth the way it did after a sip of tea. “Oh. Thank you.”

“It was _muffin_,” Vanessa says smugly. “Get it? Like nothin’.” She raises a delicate eyebrow, bright white teeth exposed in a grin. 

And in spite of herself, in spite of the pile of books and notes taller than a skyscraper next to her and the lack of words on her laptop, Brooke finds a smile spreading across her face. 

“You’re funny,” she admits. 

Vanessa runs a hand through her brown waves. “I know I am. You just _challah_ if you need anything, okay?”

“As long as you’re not talking about _knead_ like dough,” Brooke replies, her introduction paragraph flying out of her head to make room for Vanessa. 

Vanessa points approvingly at Brooke. “I like you, Miss…”

“Brooke.”

“Miss Brooke, then. Just call me Vanessa.”

Brooke nods and turns back to her textbooks, her already-wavering focus fading even faster as she keeps whipping her head around to get glances of Vanessa behind the counter. Brooke watches Vanessa’s tiny arms replace the scones in the display case, watches her pull her long hair up and secure it with a red scrunchie, watches her smile to herself as her apron gets splashed with whipped cream.

Brooke’s face burns when she meets Vanessa’s eyes, and she turns her attention to the muffin instead, still warm, chocolate chips soft and gooey. It’s true that it’s the only real food she’s eaten all day, but Brooke thinks it would still be one of the best muffins she’s had either way. 

_Focus, Brooke_. She gives up on her history paper and instead pulls out her notes from the stupid, mandatory math class she was forced to take, the numbers swirling around and looking like another language. Brooke can handle basic math, but having to know three months’ worth of formulas is making her leg bounce furiously, knee smashing into the table, mug rattling. 

This final is almost half her grade, and if she fails, she doubts there’s hope of her passing the class. If she grovels for extra credit she might be able to scrape a C-plus, but Brooke didn’t even like seeing an A-minus, that tiny dash meaning she wasn’t _quite_ good enough for an A. 

Brooke forces herself to take a deep breath like her roommate Nina always tells her to do, but it’s not working. She’ll fail, and then everyone will know. She can just imagine the family Christmas dinner: her little cousins teasing her, her nosy grandmother interrogating her, the disappointed furrow of her father’s eyebrows. She usually dodges her family’s rapid-fire personal questions like a superhero dodging bullets, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to dodge the fact that she failed her first semester of college. 

Before she knows it, her eyes are watering, a product of too much stress and not enough sleep. Brooke has always been a crier, shedding tears over everything from sad movie scenes (she _still_ has to look away when Mufasa dies) to leaving her cousin’s house after a sleepover to worries over the part she would get in a ballet performance. She’s reined it in over the years, avoiding the embarrassment and red cheeks that came with crying over everything, and yet here she is, sobbing in the middle of a cafe because of homework. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? The muffin wasn’t that bad, was it? This is the first day they let me make ‘em, I don’t want somebody dyin’ on me.”

Brooke looks up through tear-blurred eyes and sees Vanessa next to her, holding out a tissue. She takes it, body hot with embarrassment and something else she can’t identify that this girl she barely knows is not only seeing her cry, but also trying to cheer her up. Brooke wipes her eyes hastily and blinks back every last tear. 

“The muffin was really good, actually,” she reassures Vanessa. “I’m just stressed over school stuff.”

“Oh.” Vanessa’s eyes brim with concern. “Anything I can do?”

“I don’t think so. Thank you though.”

Vanessa nods, rubbing her hands together before clapping them. “I bet I can get you to laugh.”

Brooke shrugs. She’s barely _smiled_\--though Vanessa already made her do that too--since finals week started. “You can try.” Brooke finds her posture straightening in response to the challenge she’s posed, and from the cocky sway of Vanessa’s hips as she plops into the red chair across from Brooke, she’s feeling the urge to prove herself. 

“Why couldn’t the teddy bear eat dessert?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because he was stuffed!” Vanessa answers. 

“If I could make cricket noises, I would,” Brooke says, but Vanessa doesn’t lose heart. 

“What’s a ghost’s favorite muffin?” Vanessa tries. 

Brooke shrugs. 

“_Boo_-berry.”

Brooke’s teeth dig into her lip and she shakes her head. Vanessa just nods, smile widening. 

“Don’t you worry, Brooke, I got you.” She pauses. “What dinosaur likes to drink tea?” Vanessa asks. 

Brooke stares at her blankly. 

“A _Tea_-Rex! Get it?” 

Brooke tries to fight it, but a snort reluctantly escapes her lips. “That was _awful_,” she groans, tossing her napkin at Vanessa. 

Vanessa smiles. “I got you to laugh, though.” 

“Yeah, you did.”

There’s an awkward beat, and Brooke glimpses her laptop enter sleep mode, telling her that she’s not doing enough, and her face falls. 

“You really worry about this school stuff, huh?”

“Yeah,” Brooke admits. She’s always worried too much about school, staying up all night to get the highest grade she could, sacrificing sleep and tying everything to a letter on a report card, giving it more value than she knew she should give it. But she just couldn’t stop it. 

Vanessa leans in closer, her fingers brushing against Brooke’s, sending a lightning bolt up Brooke’s arm. “You’re probably sick of the ‘don’t worry’ shit, but just...take a breath. I know it’s hard, but school isn’t everything. I’ve been watching you. You always put a tip in the tip jar, and I know I messed up your coffee last week but you didn’t even say nothing, you just drank it like it was what you wanted. That’s more important than grades.”

They’re words Brooke has heard several times, from her friends, from her cousin, from guidance counselors. But there’s something about Vanessa’s warm eyes, the conviction in her voice, that makes Brooke listen this time. And the fact that Vanessa has noticed her, has thought about her, makes Brooke see past her cloud of stress and doubt, the worries weighing her down suddenly lightening. 

“You’re right,” Brooke agrees. 

“I know I am,” Vanessa says. She picks at her cherry red nail polish, then says, “So you’ll be going home after finals, right?” 

Vanessa sounds oddly sad, and Brooke finds the sadness reaching her reply. “Yeah, but I’ll be back in a month. And I’m sure I’ll have a lot more homework to do here.” She smiles as she says it, eager in the prospect of seeing Vanessa again.

Vanessa brightens up like the sun, bathing the world in its joy. “I got a study tip for ya.” She reaches for one of Brooke’s index cards and her favorite blue pen with the fuzzy pom-pom on top. She scribbles something on the index card and slides it across the table with a blush. “I gotta get back to work. Good luck with school.”

“Thank you.” Brooke meets her eyes and they mirror each other in one last smile, and then Vanessa is back behind the counter. 

Brooke peeks at the card and sees a phone number written in that messy, looping handwriting, and she vows that she’ll put that study tip to use tonight.


End file.
